Fear Fades
by Rainstorm55
Summary: Erik's night with a young Persian slave girl takes an unexpected turn. Kay Universe. Erik/OC-Eventual Erik/Christine.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Paragraph 2 (6 words) belongs to Susan Kay. Only the events herein are mine. No copyright infringement to Kay, Leroux, et al is intended!

Cool silence hummed in Erik's glaring white marble apartment. Eunuchs, officer and musician all waited in a perfect, poisoned hush for a young girl to obey the deceptively simple order that would decide her fate.

_Come forward and remove my mask. _

She would – or could – not. She remained prone and trembling on the floor beside the eunuch who had tossed her there like a rag, her position one of submission but her very failure to rise an act of unintentional defiance.

Erik waited for the girl to calm herself, but his patience proved to be in vain. The child grew more distraught with every passing moment. He had seen enough hysterical females to know that she would be beyond help if the room's stifling atmosphere did not change soon.

Come to think of it, he was not inclined to cope with it much longer himself. All these obsequious insects with their lying, prying faces, drinking in every malicious detail, vying to be the first to go creeping to the shah and tell him every tidbit…save Nadir, he hated them all!

"Be gone."

The three huge eunuchs blinked in surprise at Erik's sudden command, but did not dare to make a sound. Any noise emanating from their throats might have been construed as a contradiction that could easily result in their deaths.

Nadir evinced no emotion at his order, which did not unduly surprise Erik. Since his son's untimely death, the imperial servant had shown absolutely no enthusiasm for any aspect of life. Food…sex…women…power…

As he watched the only human friend he had ever had stand with his face blank and his jaw impassively set, Erik felt even more wretched. Ever since he had thwarted God and Mother Nature's timeframe for an innocent boy's departure from this cursed Earth, Nadir had been cool and detached, respectful and refined.

It made Erik want to scream.

He would much rather his friend had made for him with a dagger, tried to strangle him for ending Reza's life…cursed him for the murderer he was…anything would have been preferable to this veneer of civility he had shown Erik this last month.

"I believe I just gave a clear order," Erik snapped, his slender patience diluting by the second. Long ago, he had sworn that no hand would ever remove the mask save his own – indeed, that any hand that attempted to do so would not long remain attached to its owner's body. He could scarcely believe he had told the girl to unmask him in front of all these contemptible toadies. What had he been thinking?

"And when you leave, keep your distance," he continued. "I will have no greedy ears to my door, and no peering eyes at the keyhole. If anyone disturbs my evening, I shall be forced to abandon my charming guest, seek out the shah immediately and tell him the identity of the wretch who did not respect him enough to allow me to enjoy his munificence in privacy. Is that understood?"

It must have been, for the eunuchs only stayed long enough to ensure that their bows were as low and scraping as possible before turning and fleeing the quiet, luxurious apartment.

Erik turned to address his erstwhile friend.

"And one other thing – I expect absolute privacy regarding the details of

tonight. No one is to importune either myself or the girl about her time with me. Such an attempt would be both tactless and fruitless, as neither of us will satisfy any unseemly curiosity. Do I make myself clear, daroga?"

"Perfectly clear, sir," Nadir said evenly. "But I hope you realize that my influence, such as it is, does not extend to the harem, which is entrusted by the Shadow of God to his glorious lady mother."

"Duly noted, daroga," Erik said wryly. "I wish you a pleasant evening."

"Good night to you, sir. Peace and joy be with you both."

Nadir placed an arm across his waist and coolly inclined his head to Erik, then turned and nodded to the odalisque. She gasped softly in surprise at his courtesy to a slave and then bowed low to him, her palms flat on her thighs. She straightened up when she heard the door close softly behind him, but remained on her knees in front of Erik.

He studied her carefully. Although her position on the cold marble floor must be as painful as it was demeaning, she clearly would not rise unless or until he repeated his order for her to do so.

The girl had made a valiant effort to calm herself. She was obviously still terrified, but the glistening remains of tears on her pale cheeks were the only physical testimony to this. He was relieved to see that the hysteria that had threatened to engulf her, and consequently him, was now gone.

"Please stand."

As he suspected, she obeyed him immediately. Acquiescence to his will usually mollified Erik's disgust and resentment towards much of mankind, but now it just ate at his stomach.

He despised that greedy, smirking little shah and his smug slut of a mother for subjecting him to this humiliation. No less in front of a silly little girl who would clearly chatter all about him to her cronies in the harem even if he ordered her to remain silent. Once she was out of his reach and back in the pampered, powdered world of the seraglio, how could he find out what she said, much less stop her?

"Are you yourself again, my dear?"

An odd way to phrase the question, Erik thought. He had no idea who or what she was - not even her name.

"Y-yes," she stammered. "I am very grateful, master."

A fresh swell of annoyance washed over Erik. Did the girl think he would string her up if she failed to observe every ludicrous court practice that the spoiled shah insisted upon? He didn't want her bumbling, insincere thanks any more than he cared for the ridiculous noun with which she had followed it.

"I am not your master, and you will not use that word again in reference to me."

She bit her lip and closed her eyes in dread. Erik knew instantly that she wanted to ask a question but was terrified of what he might do or say if she spoke out of turn – or at all. This knowledge caused him a bitter, icy surge of melancholy.

What else could he expect? He had threatened to rape the girl in front of the eunuchs and then throw her out to be killed if she made one slight misstep. His reputation, even in this lethal court, was one of unparalleled, absolute violence and depravity. He had never taken the slightest steps to correct or change these impressions, partly out of indifference to public opinion but mostly to protect himself.

Erik could only imagine how these fabrications must have swelled like balloons filled with noxious fumes as they floated through the palace. By the time they reached the cloistered curtains of the harem, they must have been positively legendary. The stories told to this girl were probably as gory and fantastic as any he had ever enjoyed reading or weaving himself.

She lived in a world of deceit. How was she to know that the majority of what she heard about him was likely exaggerated, or that he had never touched a woman at all, let alone in anger?

"I will not harm you, child," he could not help but tell her quietly.

The raw, vulnerable hope that sprung to her face wrenched him yet again, but also gave him hope that she might not dissolve into a weeping ruin after all. She might not be able to believe his assertion, but at least she wanted to.

"You may speak freely," he continued. "I assure you, my dear, I will immediately answer any query that will assuage your fear during your…sojourn in my quarters."

She gulped, and he saw gratitude in her lovely dark eyes as she asked her question.

"How shall I address you, please?"

Erik shrugged his shoulders, not really caring. "You may call me monsieur, if you wish."

"Does that mean 'sir' in your native language?"

He nodded. The girl smiled nervously, clearly intent on pleasing him. "I like it. As you wish...monsieur."

Behind his mask, Erik's eyebrows raised at the expert way the new, heretofore unknown word slid from between her lips. He wondered if her mouth was as accomplished in physical caresses as it was in foreign linguistics, and then shook his head ruefully at his ribald train of thought. He tried to bring his mind back to safer ground with a mundane statement.

"Do you know, no one has ever called me 'monsieur' before. I was a child when I left France. Since then, I have travelled through lands where other languages are spoken."

The girl's face, calmer now, was a mask of polite interest. No matter - she'd be screaming again soon. Though he wasn't going to touch her – at least not yet.

"Now we must move to another pertinent manner."

"What is that, monsieur?"

Erik dreaded of the moment to come, during which she would surely shriek or faint. The sun was going down, and he knew that darkness would exacerbate the horror that must inevitably accompany his unmasking. Also, hope hesitantly whispered from the back of his mind, maybe the magic sunset hues of vermilion and aqua, violet and gold flowing through the huge open windows would dull the pain of his unveiling a little – at least for her.

He knew he did not have to reveal his face to the girl...but now that the loutish eunuchs were gone, he could not ignore a small voice inside him telling him to risk it. It was the gossiping troglodytes' presence he had objected to, and now that they were gone, the mad impulse to show himself to her remained. He was never one to do things by halves...and he could only accept the girl's favors if she in turn took him as he was. The urge rose within him to take the chance.

"I will remove the mask myself and give you fair warning before I do, but I insist that you look upon me before…or if I…have you."

She stared mutely at his shoes, and Erik was again struck by the deep, inexplicable insight that she had something she feared to tell him.

"Unburden yourself, child…nothing you can say while we are alone will result in trouble, as long as you are honest. Speak your mind, and then you shall savor the treat of looking upon my handsome face."

She had to look away from him, and her voice was a tentative whisper. "I have already seen your face, monsieur."

Erik stiffened. His eyes widened, then narrowed in resentful suspicion. "Explain yourself."

Her tongue fell over itself, terrified again that she had angered him. "Monsieur, it is only…I beg your…I was hidden on the upper balcony of the harem the day you revealed your face to my lady khanum."

Erik relaxed, regretful that he had frightened the child again. Was it her fault that that arrogant arachnid had made him strip off his mask in front of her pack of armed monkeys?

The tears that coursed anew down her pale face cut him – but they also intrigued him. Despite his envy at _homo sapiens_ who exhibited perfect skin tone and bone structure, Erik liked to study human faces. Most women and some men thought that females looked ugly when they cried, but this girl was quickly disproving that hypothesis. The salt drops that fell freely from her enormous eyes brightened their whiteness, heightened the charcoal shine of her irises and brought an attractive, innocent, cherry-red flush to the tops of her cheeks.

Erik thought he could guess the cause of her tears, but could not comprehend it. Since confusion was a state of mind that intensely annoyed and frustrated him, he sought to put an end to it at once.

"You do not seem merely afraid at the mention of my unmasking, my dear…you seem guilty. I want to know why."

The tears flowed faster, but she must have sensed that delaying an answer would not diffuse the tense situation.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, monsieur...I was one of the ones who screamed."

Erik nodded, not in the least surprised. Of course she had screamed. They all had. Just because he was no longer the defenceless child that had attacked a mirror with the desperate terror most humans reserved for a marauding, lethal beast…that did not mean that an accidental glance of his face still did not make _him_ want to shriek as well.

Only a woman like the khanum, whose innate predilection for wickedness and debauchery was beginning to disgust even him, would fail to scream at the sight of his visage.

"Well, my dear, since we have cleared the air and you have already seen me uncovered, I believe there is no point in delaying this necessary unpleasantness. Do you agree?"

She nodded sadly. "Yes, monsieur."

"Very well."

Erik's fingers felt cold even to him as he reached up to pull the snug-fitting piece of white silk that was his safety, his protection, away from his ears to remove it.


	2. Chapter 2

As always, the cool air of the room was a shock to Erik's skin as he took off his mask.

At least he was spared the awful suspended animation – the hideous _waiting_…that had often accompanied this moment of truth. The girl's reaction was little better than he had expected, but at least it was instantaneous.

At the sight of his bare face, naked sobs ripped from her throat and in an instinctive bid to curtail them, her lush lips twisted until they almost resembled his own.

Erik brought a hand to his mismatched eyes in self-loathing. His earlier small suspicion that she might be able to cope with his appearance without the eunuchs' threatening presence had been a childish, stupid fantasy. He had brought this on himself, and for no earthly good, not even for the value of shocking an audience. Why hadn't he sent her away? _Why?_

Suddenly, he sensed her coming towards him and wrenched his fingers away from his face.

She took small steps, and only stopped when she was standing close enough to reach out and touch him.

He was so shocked at the beauty of her motion, and that she had willingly approached him, that it took him almost a full minute to recognize her feeling, though the emotion was positively radiating from her.

Some fear, yes, and maybe even still a little dread – Erik couldn't deceive himself about that. The few kind words he'd given her, even spoken in the most soothing tones his powerful voice could muster, could not eradicate the terrible thrall of his unwanted mystique. He might as well set a marble slab under a dripping faucet and expect a rivet to be worn through the stone in an hour's time.

But there was another sentiment there, as undeniable as it was unbelievable.

Pity.

Rife with compassion, entirely void of condescension, pity positively shone from this poor girl whose childhood, in its own way, had probably been as stifled as his own.

And no one had ever looked at his face with pity before, save Marie Perrault...

Uncomfortable with her proximity, and afraid that he was deceiving himself after all about her kind impulse to him, Erik sank into his customary bravado.

"Well?" he asked her, and placed a hand on his hip. "Am I not handsome? Is my chin not glorious? And what do you think of my cheekbones? I would ask you to critique my nose, if I had one."

To his surprise, she took a step closer. That same inquisitive look came into her eyes, and he wasted no time telling her, "Ask your question."

Her voice was hushed and husky with the tears she'd shed...but with gentleness, too.

"Monsieur...your face...does it hurt you?"

A reasonable question, but not one he'd never expected to be asked. He raised a finger slowly to her face, still not touching her.

"You have a most charming mole here on your otherwise unmarked cheek. Does it hurt you?"

Her nose wrinkled in confusion at the seemingly silly question. "But of course not, monsieur, I was born with..."

Her voice trailed off, and she flushed with obvious shame. "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. Now it my turn to ask you questions."

Erik stepped to a nearby sofa, and gestured to it with a long unfurling sweep of his fingers. She sat silently and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He stood next to the leather couch and looked evenly down at her. "You will answer me immediately and honestly, is that clear?"

She nodded, and her hands clenched themselves on her lap.

"Why did they pick you to come to me tonight?"

"My training has finished, monsieur. The bathing mistresses informed my sublime lady khanum of this, and she made the decision."

Her second word sparked his interest more than any mention of the lazy tyrant who ran the harem. "Of what things did your training consist?"

She sat a little straighter on the couch as she courteously – almost primly – responded.

"I have studied the art of perfuming, both myself and my lord. I have practised my songs, my lute and goblet drum, and learned many poems and verses. I have learned how to bring my master as much pleasure as my unworthy self and wretched body are able, through massage and other methods."

In spite of himself, Erik was charmed by her demeanor as she recited her litany of sinful skills almost like a little postulant might recite her catechism. He wondered what Father Mansart would have made of this little heathen, but deep inside him he knew. The kindly priest, through his shock and horror, would surely have forgiven the fetching young creature all her sins. After all, she was still a virgin...a pulse beat in Erik's throat at this reflection...and the priest would have figured that being a heretic, she had many strikes against her soul already.

"And were there any other...contenders for my company?" Erik realised he might never again have a chance like this to find out about the inner workings of the harem, and he intended to take full advantage of the situation...even if he didn't take advantage of the girl.

The girl looked a little downtrodden at his question, but answered as quickly as he had told her to.

"Oh, no, monsieur. All the other women were glad when they found out I was to come to you."

"Glad? Why?"

"Well...after tonight, obviously, I would no longer be untasted." At her last word, Erik felt his gut and loins tighten simultaneously with longing. "Thus, I would be less likely to be summoned to the Glory of the World – not that I ever dared to presume this would happen!"

"Of course not," Erik said dryly. He felt habitual fury rise in him for the plight of the helpless females in the harem, who existed only to be called to the twisted, lewd whim of a bratty boy king. And Erik knew that there were so many women in the place that some were doomed to spend their lives in a state of perpetual inconsequence, imprisoned behind its high walls without ever being summoned to the shah. He shook his head at the ludicrous image of so many beautiful women plotting and vying for the depraved attentions of this nation's tyrannical despot.

"And they told you if you displeased me in any way that you should be killed. Am I correct?"

The corners of her full mouth turned down, and she nodded.

"You are to put that threat from your mind, for I can and will see that it does not happen."

"How, monsieur?" Her eyes were pleading. "Once I leave here..."

"I think you will find that there is no place in this wretched palace that I cannot control, should I wish to. Do not underestimate my influence with the shah."

She fell from the couch onto her knees again. "Oh, monsieur, I abjectly beseech you not to speak to the Shadow of God about me! That would surely mean the end of my life."

"And do you value your life, child?" he asked her.

"I...suppose I do, yes." Through her panic, she looked bemused. Clearly, no one had ever spoken to her about such matters before. "It is the only life ever given me by Allah, and all happens according to His will."

"Indeed," Erik nodded. He remembered that Muslims, like Christians and Jews, did not believe in reincarnation, but in one soul to be rewarded and punished for virtue and sin by Almighty God after earthly life was done. _Poor luck for me..._

The girl looked a little calmer, and he decided that a change of scene was in order.

"Would you care to see my menagerie?"

"If you please, monsieur," she said instantly, the picture of politeness. But Erik saw a plain expression cross her face - a look that he had seen often at this poisonous court of malice and intrigue. The girl's smooth brow furrowed as she savagely bit her rosy lower lip. She was indeed terrified, but not of him – she was mortally afraid of being made to look a fool.

Erik could not understand why, until she found the commendable courage necessary to ask her question. "If you will excuse my ignorance…what is a menagerie, monsieur?"

Erik smiled at her for the first time as he offered her his arm to help her up. "Come."

She rose gracefully, went willingly and even placed her little white fingers on his elbow. Erik was immediately distracted by their slight weight on his body and their warmth through the fine linen of his shirt. A small, delicious shiver went up his back as he realized that although he had initiated it, their first physical contact was her touching him, not the other way around.

Before he could fully examine the sensation, they had reached their destination behind a painted silk screen in the corner of his apartment's huge, airy sitting room. She withdrew her hand from his arm and knelt down with a soft cry of delight.

She cooed in indulgent affection at the striped, one-eyed tomcat who greeted her. Erik was sure the girl was quite unaware of the sensual picture she made on the floor, smiling as the animal stalked and circled her possessively, rubbing its sleek head and body against her bare back and abdomen as hard as it could in a blatant show of male ownership.

"Do you like cats, my dear?"

"Oh, very much. Our beloved Prophet, peace be upon him, also loved cats. Did monsieur ever hear or know that the Glory of the Empire escaped into the harem one day not six months ago?"

"Indeed?"

She smiled as she caressed the madly purring feline. "Everyone was shocked. She bolted right out of the arms of the eunuch who held her and straight through the garden gate that separates the harem from the rest of the palace."

"Was this eunuch punished?" Erik asked.

"Oh no, monsieur. My merciful, benevolent lord found it most amusing. The eunuchs tell us that he laughed and praised his Glory's good taste in company."

"How was the cat recovered?"

The girl's lips split open in a wide, whimsical grin.

"My illustrious lord shah promised a ruby ring from his own gracious hand to whoever found her. We all had a merry afternoon searching the entire harem before a senior concubine named Halima finally found her curled up asleep on a pile of my majestic lady khanum's silk sheets."

Erik pictured the shah's spoiled feline squeezing into the confines of the harem through the narrow bars. He felt another wave of maddening frustration on his guest's behalf that she had less freedom of motion – and was treated far less kindly – than a bloody cat.

The odalisque's attention had turned to the other avian and reptilian life forms with which he shared his apartment. Only a few were asleep, while several chirped a greeting at her. One looked at her upside down through slitted eyes.

"Do you like my guests? My other guests, that is?"

"Yes, monsieur," she said courteously. "But where do they sleep? Where are their cages?"

Erik frowned. "You will find no cages in my rooms."

He poured a glass of arak from the small table next to him and offered it to her.

"I thank you, but if monsieur will excuse me, true followers are not permitted."

"You must be the only Muslim in the palace who abides by that edict," Erik said as he set the liquor aside for himself. "Do the ladies of the harem drink much wine, or any spirits?"

"Certainly never spirits, monsieur, and they are only allowed wine once in a great while, such as the anniversary of our gentle lord shah's birth. I myself do not imbibe. The harem mistresses say that a drunken woman is a disgusting disgrace to humanity."

Erik snorted at this nauseating hypocrisy after all the inebriated debauchery he had seen among the gentlemen of the palace. He shook his head at the nonsense of it all as he poured his guest a goblet of chilled orange sherbet and handed it to her.

"Oh, thank you, monsieur." She cupped the copper goblet in her smooth hand and drank in large sips, like a child. Her shoulders shimmied a little as she shivered from the chill. And when she put the cup down, Erik was taken by the glistening of the freezing liquid on her lips – and again when her little red tongue darted out to lick them clean.

Erik's nostrils flared slightly as he watched her lips, and ached to find out with his own tongue how fast her mouth would reach its regular hot temperature after drinking the icy treat.

He was surprised to see his hand reach down, pluck a large, moist piece of baklava from the tray where he kept treats for his birds and offer it to her. He had made no conscious decision to do so.

He drew in a ragged, quiet breath as she bowed slightly and then fell to her dessert. She resembled nothing so much as a little brown squirrel devouring her nut cake. Her perfect white teeth made short work of the dripping pastry, and she smiled shyly through a bite when she saw that he was watching her.

When she was done, she thanked him politely. Her smile accentuated the shiny spots of honey that clung to her lips. Erik was struck in his stomach by the delightful paradox of her sumptuous mouth decorated with sweetmeat like a child's.

He reached out to brush the amber liquid from her lips. A mistake. His heightened senses screamed silently as they were barraged with an onslaught of luscious sensations...the blazing heat of her lip...the unexpected strength of her chin in his palm...her sudden intake of breath as he touched her for the first time.

And then, in a move that made him curse himself for a madman, he placed his own thumb in his misshapen mouth and before her shocked eyes, sucked her sweetness from his skin.

Erik started to ache again as she gasped slightly. Her eyes widened, which accentuated the fact that her pupils were dilated. He wondered if her look was a planned coquetry taught by her harem mistresses, if she truly did not know how tempting she looked...or if he really did intrigue her.

And by God, he wanted to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Paragraph 4 (flashback) belongs to Susan Kay. No copyright infringement intended.

He wanted...he wanted...

"Yes, monsieur?" she whispered. "I implore you to tell your humble servant...what is your desire?"

He was shocked to realise he must have spoken aloud.

_If you don't tell me what you want straightaway, you will have nothing at all._

Erik cursed under his breath and made for the door. He heard the girl utter a tiny cry as he strode across the gleaming marble floor, but he didn't let it stop him. He quickly satisfied the two aims of his trip by peering out of the keyhole to make sure they were not being observed, and then ensuring that the intricate lock and bolt system he had invented and applied to the door was activated. It was.

Erik ran his hand up the shiny white door, his breath harsh and slow and deep. _Impossible...this cannot be_. In a motion that seemed to take ten years, he turned to face the girl.

She had not moved. She was trembling slightly, and he saw that her fingers were shaking even more than her body when she raised her hand to him. Incredibly, her eyes were pleading with him to return.

He was back with her in a second.

Erik stood opposite her, his chest rising and falling in an unconscious duet with hers as they stared each other down. He breathed in the lavender scent of her young body.

He silently dared her to look away, to cry again, to show the fear that had betrayed her upon her entry to his apartment.

Her hands slowly raised until they were at the level of her waist, and then stopped there, palms up, as if she were waiting for him to make the next move.

Erik took a step back. Just one...enough to allow him to breathe again, but still be able to smell her perfume.

"What did they tell you to do for me first?"

Her voice was as hushed as his as she answered. "They told me to ask you...if you wish...wish...me to disrobe for you, or if monsieur would prefer to remove my clothing himself."

Erik drew in a sharp breath, and as he exhaled, his breath formed one word. "You."

"You wish me to disrobe for you?"

He could not speak...but he could nod, and he did.

The girl showed no reticence at all. She might be afraid, but her training served her well. Silence roared in the room as she stepped out of one gold-embroidered slipper and then the other. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the minuscule buttons holing her filmy bolero jacket shut. She slowly peeled it back off her shoulders, and let it slide down her arms onto the ground. As he watched, mesmerised, her voluminous trousers slithered down her white legs and pooled around her like water. Her eyes never left his as scrap after scrap of gauzy mauve material floated silently to the marble floor.

"_Bon dieu_…"

Erik turned away from her and cursed the lustful, depraved insanity that had made him tell the girl to strip for him. He did not intend to take her, and now the raw, gnawing ache that had grabbed his body when he first saw her was back, pulling painfully at his groin, making his every limb throb.

Behind his closed eyes, Erik could still see the beauty that had sent need coursing back through every atom of him. Broad but perfect shoulders, plump little hips, a sweetly curving waist and small but tempting breasts…and before he closed his eyes, he could not help but note that the ladies of the harem did indeed denude themselves of all their body hair.

His hands trembling, Erik strode away from her and picked up a large, soft towel from the pile he kept on the table. He extended his arm back behind him, still not looking at her.

"Cover yourself…please."

Despair coursed over her as she crossed her arm over her breasts and reached out to take the bath sheet. She did not dare to delay or hesitate to acquiesce to his order. She did not question the command either – but then, she did not need to.

He found her ugly. She was ugly. A fat little brown sparrow, just like the sleek, satisfied bitches in the harem had always told her she was.

And then, things got worse as he spoke to her, still refusing to look at her.

"I cannot do this."

She knew what he meant, but could not help asking through her clenched throat, "You cannot lie with me, monsieur?"

"I cannot."

Her shoulders slumped, and tears of humiliation snaked into her eyeballs. He had just lied to her for the first time tonight. He could indeed take her...men could do anything they wanted to do, if the whim of their lord shah permitted it. He just did not want to. He did not want her.

"You surely have enough…empirical knowledge to describe what a man would have done to you. Say what you think they will believe. Choose your words carefully, and they will be none the wiser."

She shook her head bitterly as she tightened the towel around her breasts. "Forgive me, monsieur, but they would. When I return, the first thing the bathing mistress will do is to check my body for signs of…your use. And if I am untouched, the blame will lie solely with me."

He still would not look at her. "I told you, I will speak to the shah. I will make sure..."

"The eunuchs would deliver the bastinado first, after they stripped off my clothes. The final honor of taking my life would be left to my lady khanum. She would probably strangle me with her bare hands, breaking my windpipe."

"Enough."

"Or maybe she would take a dagger and relieve me of my –"

"Stop!" Erik raised his voice to her for the first time.

But she would – she could – not. Her shoulders shaking from the tension of her misery, she went to stand beside him, her bare feet shivering on the marble floor.

"Monsieur...please. You have saved…my...life."

He finally turned to her. The disbelief and uncertainty in his eyes shocked and touched her deeper than any feature of his poor, unmasked face.

"I humbly entreat you to forgive and forget the craven foolishness I showed when the eunuchs delivered me to you. I swear to you that I feared their loose tongues and the tales they would tell my lady khanum of my idiocy more than I ever feared monsieur. Now we are alone, and I am yours."

Erik shook his head at himself as much as her. He could not – he must not – credit this. She did not know what she was saying.

"Monsieur...will you not do me this one more kindness before I have to leave you?"

_Kindness...kindness..._

The word undid Erik.

With a groan of defeat, he reached out and pulled her to him. She uttered a small, grateful sob as his arm slid around her waist. As he caught her to him, she placed both hands on his upper arms in a trusting effort to steady herself.

Her willing hands on him were more than he could bear. In one fluid motion, Erik reached down and swept her up into his arms.

She placed her arms around his neck tightly and stared at him in awe. She was not a light girl, and he held her as if she weighed no more than the gauze pants and bolero jacket that lay discarded on the floor behind them. Shocked, they studied each other deeply. And when she cocked her head to the side, Erik closed his eyes, held his ragged breath and leaned his face down for the first kiss of his life.

Author's Note -_ Bon dieu = "_Good God_." _The bastinado is a painful punishment in which the soles of the feet are beaten.

Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, enjoying and reviewng so far! _  
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	4. Chapter 4

Their kiss was not a beautiful thing. She had not been prepared for it. She had just been about to speak, so his mouth struck her parted lips. No one had taught her how to give or receive kisses to the mouth. Indeed, much of her training had prepared her for positions in which man and woman did not face each other.

The sensation of her hot mouth on his so startled Erik that his head jerked back involuntarily, and he had to take a deep breath before he reached for her lips again. So much the better...it meant the second kiss he took from her...and gave to her...could last longer.

But the girl did not have his breath control, nor the wherewithal to breathe through her nose while kissing. So she had to bring her mouth an inch from his, gasping for air, minutes...hours before he would have liked.

She moaned when he ran the tip of his tongue gently around her swollen lip, tasting the traces of honey that still clung there. Erik gave a deep groan of pure satisfaction as he turned and walked them slowly to a door that she thought – hoped – must lead to his bedchamber.

She had been right. As he carried her inside, a corner of her mind noticed a richness to the decor of the white room that rivalled anywhere in the lush, opulent palace. He set her gently on her feet, but his lips had brought ruin to her equilibrium, and she wavered slightly as he took a step away from her.

She was nervous again as he left her to stand beside the huge bed...and her heart started to pound as he reached out a hand to her.

"Tell me what you want," he repeated her earlier entreaty to him in a harsh whisper.

She was left at a loss yet again. What did he mean? As gentle as he had been, she still expected him to take control if he meant to take her. If not, she did not know what she should do.

"Monsieur?" Her eyes were pleading. "I do not understand. I have no desire save to follow my orders from my miraculous lord shah...and from you, to whom I have been given."

"I want to know what you want," he repeated, implacable. He sat down on the bed, never taking his eyes from her. They were alight with need, and she suddenly realised that they were more striking than any other part of his indescribable face.

Her shoulders rose and fell with her rapid breathing. "Monsieur...you are already saving my life as I begged you would, if you do indeed intend to claim me for your own, as I am this night."

She saw unmistakable warmth come into his gaze.

"Monsieur, forgive me, but can you blame me for being surprised, or not knowing quite what to do in the face of your generosity to me?"

She took a step closer to him...and the bed.

"What man would treat me as you have, as gently as you no doubt treat your animals? I was taught how to position myself so I would bruise as little as possible when you took me, so as not to leave unsightly marks on my skin. I was told to scream as loudly as I could when you beat me to show my absolute submission to your will. And you have shown me nothing but sweetness, once we were alone together."

He had stiffened in anger at the preposterous notion of him beating her, but his shoulders relaxed as she went on.

"I beg of you to believe that my only desire is to please you, monsieur. If I can do that, I have succeeded."

Her lips trembled, but she stood straight and proud before him. He took strength from hers...enough, at least, to extend his hand.

"_Viens ici, ma chére_," he whispered.

She spoke only one word of his native language, but his outstretched hand told her all she needed to know. She obeyed him perfectly by walking slowly toward him.

He clasped both her hands tightly, and a thrill ran through him as she squeezed his fingers.

"Seat yourself on my knees."

Here again, her training served her well. She was graceful and her gaze never left him as she straddled his lap and clasped her arms around his neck. Her smooth motion combined with the knowledge that she had never done this to a man before was almost more than he could bear.

Erik groaned softly as his hands found her soft waist. She made not a sound as he slowly pulled the towel from her body, leaving her utterly naked in his lap...but her hands tightened around him.

His hands snaked down to her hips, and pulled her closer. "Aah..." he breathed softly at the absolute shock of her soft, warm flesh pressed even closer to him.

He turned them both so they sank down onto the bed. Her arms never left him, and this gave him the courage to continue.

He thrummed with a sweet need as his eyes devoured her whole, the way his body wanted to. Her small imperfections made her even more precious...even more real.

Her eyes were bloodshot from the tears she had shed, and her hair mussed from their trip into the bedroom. There was a faint red line where the towel had bitten into her breasts.

In a dream, Erik bent down and licked slowly along this line. She moaned, the loudest sound she had made thus far. He felt the sensation as much as he heard it.

Pure pleasure coursed through him, racing up and down his arms, back and legs as his tongue and lips devoured her.

Her hands gripped his shoulders helplessly as he tasted the skin of her throat and shuddered at the pounding of her pulse. He slowly snaked his mouth back down to her breasts and nuzzled her there. His strong, cold hand swept possessively across her stomach as he dipped his tongue into her navel.

"I want your mouth this way, my dear," he whispered harshly between kisses. "All over me, everywhere this night, without cease. Do you understand me, _chérie_?"

"Anything you wish, my darling Erik."

He gasped. He wrenched himself upwards...and looked straight into the eyes of his muse...his heart...his wife. How could he have thought it would be otherwise?

Tears filled her dark eyes as she smiled at him. They spilled onto her flushed cheeks as she whispered, "I love you, Erik."

_Christinechristinemychristine_

Painful breaths exploded from Erik's diaphragm as he bolted up into the absolute darkness. Deeper need wracked his body as he tried to calm his ragged exhalations...after all, his dream, luscious though it had been, had not come to fruition.

As he shook his head at this lascivious thought, he felt his wife stir beside him. Their lovemaking earlier that night had been desperate and prolonged, and her voice was thick with sleep.

"Erik…my love, is everything well?"

"Certainly not, my sweet..."

She sat up and placed her hand on his arm, and he felt her anxiety.

"It is better than well...better than better. You are a miracle, Christine."

She sighed in relief, and then snuggled back under the quilt next to him. Christine had sewed it herself as he read her poetry by Musset and de Lisle by the fireside, and it was wonderfully warm on his bare chest.

"Christine?"

"Hmm?"

He shifted slightly to bring her closer and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Are you ever afraid?"

She remained still, and in this he felt her concern just as much as he heard it in her voice.

"Afraid of what? Erik, did you have a nightmare? Everyone has them now and again...it may help you to tell me of it."

"Perhaps in a moment...but are you ever frightened, my dear?"

She trailed her hand across his chest, considering the question and weighing the honest response she knew he needed from her.

"After we wed, Erik, I thought never to be afraid again...but now I find I am frightened all the time."

"And of what?" he said, frowning into the darkness. "Tell me so that I may crush your fears."

She shook her head, and to his consternation, he felt a couple of hot drops fall from her eyes onto his collarbone. "You are a magician, Erik...but for me to release my fears, I would have to stop loving you, and that I will never do."

"And why is that?" Erik asked her gently. "What have your fears to do with me, or your love for me?"

The timbre of her lovely voice was smoky with her crying. "Because my only three fears in this world are waking up to find you gone, or discovering that you never loved me...or rising to find that our life together has been but a dream, and that I am alone again in the cold dormitory of the Conservatoire."

"Oh, Christine." He pressed his lips between her eyes, shushing her. "I understand...please don't, my sweet..."

She just burrowed deeper into his arms. Erik was concerned that any further words on his part would just seem like platitudes, so he merely hummed her a Chopin nocturne until her silent tears subsided.

When he could sense she was less upset and closer back to the sleep he'd interrupted, Erik rewarded her bravery and honesty in telling him her fears with a dozen deep, loving kisses to her mouth.

"Christine...I suppose that since my only fear is likewise losing you, we can help each other see the folly of these frights. Do you agree?" He kissed the warm, salty droplets off her cheeks.

"I agree...but I do not deserve you, Erik."

"Indeed, you do not. You deserve someone younger and respectable and whole...but alas, you are stuck with me, for I can and will never let you go."

"Mmm..." Christine's low, mellifluous moan caressed him through the pitch darkness, and he shivered. "You are whole, Erik...my whole existence...though I must admit your desires are often anything but respectable, though we are husband and wife."

Erik chuckled softly and held Christine closer...no mean task, since her lithe form was already lying full length next to him, leg to leg, with her head on his shoulder and their hands clasped together.

Five whole months had passed since a bald, smiling priest had married them in the quiet chapel of the Madeleine, with Nadir as their joyful witness. They had honeymooned in his lakeside home - now theirs. Erik had carefully bought enough food to ensure that they would not have to leave the house for weeks. He had strenuously objected to them ever leaving his – now their – bedroom, but after ten days, Christine had begged for an uninterrupted moonlight picnic in the Bois, and he could not deny her.

Five months ago, she would have said that as marvellous a teacher as he was, she could have progressed no further in her musical abilities. Five months ago, he would have sworn that he could not possibly love her more.

They were both awed and humbled every day to be proven ever more wrong on these counts.

Life was not perfect.

Every day, Erik battled the primal, possessive need within him to keep her in the house forever, never letting her out of his sight. He objected if she so much as wanted to stroll on the banks of the lake alone.

And when he went up to her erstwhile dressing room three months after the wedding to collect a parasol she wanted, the sight of her vanity table had reduced him to a shaking, livid ruin.

The smooth mahogany surface was completely obscured by ridiculous beribboned bouquets which Erik was glad to note were all dried and old. The fool boy must have sent them on a daily basis. Erik's suspicions were confirmed by a thick packet of letters written on cream linen parchment. There were at least two dozen of them. Without stopping to think that Christine might like to read them or reply, he immediately lit a fire in the little grate and threw all the papers and petals into it. His nails bit bloody gouges into the thin flesh of his hands as he watched them all turn to ash. He then stalked out of the room, through the mirror, down to the cellars, into the boat, across the lake and into the house with his heart beating a constant, dangerous tattoo that he was sure portended another attack.

He embraced her fiercely, but it had been over an hour before he could speak to Christine. Only the fact that she held him tightly around the shoulders and kept her questions to a minimum shortened the span of his fury.

She was not happy when she learned the details of his excursion, but the fact that she did not express undue concern over the loss of Raoul's letters did much to calm Erik's temper. And when she rebuked him for leaving a fire burning in her abandoned dressing room, which was in a secluded hallway, thereby risking the safety of his greatest architectural work, he laughed, hugged her and assured her that the flames had been out when he left.

They had needed her parasol the nest day when it started to drizzle during their evening promenade. The incident had brought them ultimately closer.

Christine reached up and brushed her lips gingerly across his earlobe. Erik trembled and tilted his head back. She gloried in his soft hiss of ecstasy as she placed several adoring kisses across his unmasked cheek, and then to the side of his neck.

"Will you tell me what you dreamt?"

He did not hesitate. "A past wrong...a painful experience. I can never change it in reality – we none of us can erase our sins. But for the first time, the pain was gone from my mind and memory, Christine...for you were there, and you have killed my loneliness. Even the loneliness of my past and my dreams."

She kissed his shoulder as he wound his fingers into her dark hair. With his other hand, he reached down to lovingly caress her hip through the fine linen of her nightdress. "If I could have one wish, Erik, I would have been born sooner, so I could have known you longer...been with you...truly saved you from every ounce of pain you ever had."

He pressed his lips to her closed eyelids. "The past is over, my dear...save the delicious pleasure I have every day in the memory of making you my wife with my body as well as my vows...and recalling your eyes the night you agreed to become mine forever."

She rubbed her forehead against his arm like a sleepy kitten. "It was a decision you honored me by proposing, Erik...but the words were not necessary and the choice not truly mine, for I know now that I was born to be yours."

"And I yours, my dearest wife."

His embrace tightened around her as they drifted back to sleep. Five levels above where they lay in the mahogany bed he had started to build them the night she accepted his proposal, the statues of the Greek gods he had carved for the grand foyer of the Opera House guarded and protected them with their silence.

Fin

Author's Note -

_Viens ici, ma chére = _"Come here, my darling."

I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the supportive reviews. Thank you!


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